


everything all at once

by dirty_diana



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Barebacking, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Partnership, Pre-Canon, SHIELD, Strike Team Delta, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_diana/pseuds/dirty_diana
Summary: "I love when you give me undercover tips," Clint said drily, then added, "Just let me know when I can stick an arrow in someone."Nazariy raised one eyebrow on an otherwise composed, beautiful face. "Just your arrow, I hope."
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	everything all at once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



> contains kissing while under the influence of sex pollen. thanks to llaras for the beta.

Clint hated undercover work. He could sit in a sniper's nest as long as he needed to, and he liked facing a target in close combat, but undercover work was all the worst parts of those things with none of the thrill.

"Don't be so tense. You'll stick out like a sore thumb," Nazariy said. He'd been getting ready for almost an hour, or so it felt like to Clint. The clean, grassy scent of Nazariy's cologne filled the bedroom of the small townhouse their cover identities had rented for the weekend. He reclined into the soft bed, and watched Nazariy arrange the cuffs on his shirt exactly as he wanted them. The shirt was deep green, a colour Clint knew Naz knew he looked good in, with the sleeves pushed up just enough to expose deceptively slender wrists. Nazariy's hands were still strong enough to break a man's neck.

"I love when you give me undercover tips," Clint said drily, then added, "Just let me know when I can stick an arrow in someone."

Nazariy raised one eyebrow on an otherwise composed, beautiful face. "Just your arrow, I hope."

Clint smirked a little, rolling his eyes. Nazariy was a flirt. Everyone at SHIELD knew that. Clint never took it too seriously. "That depends how the op goes."

Nazariy shrugged and went back to his preparations. His red hair was cut in a shaggy style that brushed the base of his neck and tucked easily behind his ears. He'd put something in it to make it point in several directions, but the locks still swayed a little when Nazariy moved his head.

Clint eyed Nazariy's pants, a sleek leather pair that hugged his limbs as closely as if he wasn't wearing anything at all. "Where are you hiding weapons in those?" he asked. It was only half a tease. In the event of things turning to a fight, Clint liked to know what their options were.

"Maybe I am the weapon."

"That, I'd believe."

Nazariy flashed a smile, one that might have looked friendly if Clint didn't know him so well, and drew two sheathed knives from the small of his back. "Satisfied?"

It was a blind op. No comms, no HQ, just the two of them and a creepy illegal tech dealer in a Sokovian nightclub. Clint looked at the knives and nodded. "Let's get this over with," he said.

*

The target's business was serum. Billed as super soldier serum, though it wasn't actually what he had. No one had cracked super-soldier serum since 1945. Instead Josef Bédard sold an array of potions that promised temporary, single enhancements.

"Why are these assholes always trying to recreate Captain America?" Clint had muttered during the pre-mission briefing. Across the table Nazariy had shrugged, and Maria Hill had glared at the interruption. Clint had stared back at her, uncowed.

"They haven't completely succeeded yet," Nazariy said, frowning at the dossier. "So that's something."

"They've gotten as far as they're going to get," Maria added. "Find the factory, shut it down. Delta is wheels up in two hours." 

*

Josef Bédard was a thin spindle of a man, with dark, suspicious eyes that immediately put Clint on edge.

"Nice to meet you," Clint said, extending a hand.

"Of course. I love meeting Americans." Bédard shook his hand, but his eyes drifted to Nazariy, lingering on his lithe frame just a moment too long. "You are not American."

"I'm from a lot of places," Nazariy replied, speaking in barely accented French. 

Bédard smiled. "I know the feeling. Welcome to Sokovia."

*

Inside the darkened club, the music was loud. Bédard introduced his girlfriend, a tall, vampy blonde named Evie, who took one look at Nazariy and grabbed him by the hand. 

"You look like you dance," she said, in a distinct Sokovian accent. "Dance with me."

Bédard laughed, and Nazariy shot a charming smile in his direction. "Sure thing."

Clint's eyes followed them down the steps from Bédard's small private lounge onto the dance floor. Bédard leaned against the railing, his gaze just as watchful as Clint's. There were a handful of other party goers nearby, as well as two burly men with serious faces. The muscle, Clint concluded. Neither let their eyes wander from Clint's position. His attention fell back on Nazariy, who'd reached the dance floor and had started swaying his hips in a liquid motion, his hands falling to Evie's waist. She gyrated against him, throwing her head back. Nazariy's moves were simple, yet he controlled his body with trained ease and seemed to melt into the thumping electronic rhythm like he was made of it. His hips curled and twisted in a way that was pure sex.

Clint wasn't the only one watching.

"Your partner is very distracting," Bédard said.

"He's got a lot of qualities," Clint answered, keeping his tone deliberately casual.

"Yes, I imagine so. You are an unusual pairing. Where did you meet?"

"Rio," Clint said, watching Bédard as he spoke. He disliked this stage of undercover work the most, when everything was almost certainly a test. "It was a while ago. Thought we were here to talk business."

"We are talking business. I never exchange money with anyone who doesn't know how to party."

Clint noted the glint in his eyes, the sign of alcohol or something stronger. Bédard was that kind of bad guy, the type that was only in the life because he liked the shallow shit that came with it. Maria's normally faultless dossier hadn't caught that. Clint smiled as if Bédard had said something funny. His eyes remained trained on the dance floor, watching for Nazariy's return.

The song ended, shifting into a new track, something with a quickly rapping vocalist that Clint's Sokovian wasn't good enough to follow. Evie whispered something in Nazariy's ear. Then she took his hand, leading him from the dance floor. Away from the balcony, Clint realised. They were moving through the packed dance floor, towards the other side of the club.

"Where are they going?" Clint asked, doing his best to sound as if the answer was inconsequential.

Bédard turned away, as if he was bored now that the impromptu show was over. "To have some fun, I imagine. Ah, perfect timing." A server had ascended the steps with a full tray of drinks. Clint sipped his before abandoning it on the nearest table.

Nazariy could take care of himself. Clint knew that, but he was thrumming with nerves even as he tried to focus on Bédard's dull small talk.

Bédard was halfway through a thorough description of the latest sportscar he'd bought when Nazariy finally returned, Evie trailing after him.

It had been nearly fifteen minutes. "There you are," Clint said, then managed not to jump as Nazariy walked right up to him and put his arms around him.

"Here I am," Nazariy agreed. 

Bédard had emptied his first drink and picked up a second, moving to sit in one of the soft velvet couches that ringed the balcony. Clint sat down opposite him, and covered his surprise when Nazariy dropped down with him, almost in Clint's lap. That hadn't been part of the original cover story, but Clint knew Nazariy's improvisations usually had logic behind them. He laughed, sliding an arm around Nazariy to pull him closer as if they sat together like this every day.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, and Nazariy nodded. He'd transformed since they walked in. The confident business partner had disappeared, replaced by pliant, blank-eyed arm candy. Clint turned to face him, covering the movement with something that could almost be called a kiss. Nazariy's eyes met his, and for a moment the vacant expression was gone. The familiar Naz was there, staring back at him.

Whatever had been on offer in the bathroom, Nazariy was still with him. That was good. Clint hid a sigh of relief, leaning back. Nazariy's face became pleasantly empty again.

Bédard was still watching them. "Where did you say you two had met?"

"Brazil," Clint responded. He didn't for a moment think the man had forgotten his first answer.

"I'm surprised I haven't run into you before."

It wasn't a question, so Clint didn't respond. One arm snuck around Nazariy's back, running up the strong muscles in it from the outside of his shirt. They'd played a lot of roles together, but hardly ever one this close.

"You know Rider, I suppose."

George Adams, code name Rider, was the middleman for a lot of criminals who liked their weapons as obscure and weird as possible. Clint had never had any contact with him, outside the height of a sniper's nest. "Sure," Clint said.

Bédard looked sceptical, pulling his thin face into a tight line. "Really? Because he doesn't know you. I talked to him yesterday."

Clint breathed in. Out. Against him he could feel Nazariy's heartbeat, as steady as a drum. "You asked if we'd heard of him, not if we did business together. Rider doesn't know us because he's as crazy as fuck. We steer clear of that shit."

Bédard hummed agreement. "He is unpredictable."

Nazariy moved, and now he was in Clint's lap. The mood on the balcony hadn't relaxed, but Bédard had stopped paying much attention to Nazariy, his distrustful eyes trained on Clint instead. Though Nazariy's body language was relaxed, Clint could feel the sinews of his muscles tight and ready to strike. 

From this vantage point, Clint could make out more than one clubgoer carrying a weapon. He couldn't pick out whether they were likely to be with Bédard, but if a fight got chaotic, Clint knew details wouldn't matter. Clint considered the field, and the numbers. His gut instincts hadn't relaxed since they walked in. He moved his hand down, until his fingers curled lightly over Nazariy's waist.

"You're in a good mood, huh? Maybe I should forget business, and take you back to the hotel."

"I'm having a good time," Nazariy protested, putting a hand on his chest.

Clint frowned. Nazariy usually grasped his meanings, but just in case he slid a hand to cradle Nazariy's hip, and tapped a small, exposed patch of hipbone three times. Firm, but soft, just as if he was tapping his comms in the field. Blown. Attempting retreat.

"If we leave, we'll miss all the fun." Nazariy moved his own fingers over the back of Clint's hand.

That message was clear. Nazariy thought it was more dangerous to try to go than to stay.

Bédard looked amused. "At least someone here knows the value of a good time."

Clint didn't like it, but he forced his body to relax. Nazariy's mouth lit with an amusement that Clint suspected was real.

He was firmly settled in Clint's lap, and Clint was trying not to think about the way Nazariy's toned, curved ass rested against his crotch. He hoped Nazariy wasn't thinking about it either, but from the way Nazariy shifted every now and then, at an angle that only managed to increase the friction, Clint suspected the other man was well aware.

He grabbed hold of Nazariy's waist with the latest shift, forcing him to stay in place. Clint's grip was ruthlessly firm and tight, daring Nazariy to exert the force he'd need to break it.

Bédard was droning on about his private plane. Clint was barely listening. The muscles of Nazariy's abs were tight and flat under his fingers, and Clint could make out the shape of the two knives Nazariy had stored in the small of his back. He relaxed his grip, and Nazariy shifted again, the seat of his tight pants rubbing the front of Clint's jeans. Nazariy leaned back, his back resting against Clint's chest, and settled into Clint's arms as if he belonged there. 

*

It was three in the morning when Bédard lit his last cigarette. He tossed the empty carton to the ground and said, "So tell me what you're looking for."

"We've got clients in the States that could use a competitive advantage. We can move whatever juice you've got."

"This is not juice." Bédard's mouth curled in distaste. "Have your clients ever imagined what they could do with the strength to lift a car? To run so fast you are impossible to see? That's what this is."

"Thing is, we're worried the rumours can't live up to the reality." Nazariy spoke, and Bédard's face turned towards him. It held a tinge of surprise and amusement.

"Don't worry. The reality will be unlike anything you've ever seen."

He held out a vial. "On the house. My men will reach you tomorrow, with instructions on where to go. We'll introduce you to the entire line."

Clint stared at the vial in distrust. It was an unnatural pink, slightly cloudy at the bottom. "What's that?"

Bédard looked at Nazariy and the way his hips swayed subtly in Clint's lap, then met Clint's gaze. "I think you know what it is."

Clint shook his head, just managing not to flinch. "That sounds like a party trick. We're looking for the real deal."

Bédard opened his mouth to reply. Before he could speak Nazariy grabbed the vial out of his hand, uncapping it and lifting it to his lips in a lightning fast motion. He gulped down half of the liquid, then handed the rest to Clint.

In for a fucking penny. Clint drank the rest, then handed the empty vial back to Bédard, who looked pleased.

"Gentlemen," he said, with an air of dismissal. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

*

Clint's skin was too warm. Next to him Nazariy's skin was a raging fire, his hands roving hungrily all over Clint's face and body as they kissed.

"I don't think that was a good idea," Clint said, making himself pull away from Nazariy and find the breath to speak.

Nazariy didn't look worried. He looked flushed and a little disheveled under the streetlights, a sight Clint had never seen before. "It was a test. He wasn't going to trust us if we turned it down."

"We could have dealt with that." Nazariy did this all the time in the field, made the split second decisions most other people wouldn't make. It was one of the reasons Fury liked him. It drove Clint up the goddamn wall.

"It's only half a dose each." 

"It doesn't feel like half a dose." 

They had stumbled out of the taxi and were still lingering on the steps of the rented townhouse. Nazariy's hands tightened on Clint's waist then drifted further down, fingertips pressing into the tops of Clint's thighs. Clint held him in return. Nazariy's skin was warm where Clint's hand slipped under his shirt.

"Shit," Clint said. He couldn't think. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," Nazariy said, a little breathless. "It'll only be a few more minutes."

Clint's blunted mind didn't know what that meant. Nazariy's hands slid into his pockets, pulling out the keys to the front door. He turned the key in the lock and pushed it open. The two of them fell through the doorway, intertwined.

Nazariy made a beeline for the living room, and the case they'd stashed under the sleek modern coffee table. Understanding sparked in Clint's fuzzy thoughts, and Clint's hand fell on the lid, pulling it up.

"It doesn't work on everything," he reminded Nazariy.

"If it doesn't work we'll just make the best of it," Nazariy said.

Clint couldn't stop to think through the possible scenarios that sentence conjured. Nazariy was pulling a smaller case out of the larger one, and Clint was rubbing against him, reaching for his face to kiss him again. Nazariy's mouth accepted the kiss, fumbling around the zipper on the case and retrieving two slim needles.

Clint tugged one from his fingers and slammed it into his thigh, taking a breath and then watching as Nazariy did the same.

The fog lifted almost instantly. Clint let go of Nazariy and took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. He didn't know what else to do with them. He cracked a smile, trying to think of a joke.

"I'm not sure what was worse, that sex serum or you wiggling your ass on my lap half the night."

"What's wrong with my ass?" Nazariy asked, with the hint of a mirthful smile. 

"Nothing's wrong with it. I like your ass," Clint admitted.

"I know. You stare at it all the time." Nazariy sounded affectionate, and not like he was about to report Clint for sexual harassment, so Clint didn't deny it. "It did make me wonder, though."

"Wonder what?"

"What exactly you'd do with it." Nazariy stepped close to him, closing the space that Clint had just opened. Then, very deliberately, he covered Clint's hands with his own and moved them downwards to brush against his ass. Then he squeezed, hard. To Clint's speechless expression, Nazariy added, "You must have thought of something."

"Yeah. I thought of something."

"Tell me," Nazariy whispered. His whole body pressed close Clint's. It was different than it had been in the club, a show that was now for Clint only. 

"That antidote take?" Clint asked.

Nazariy's voice was cool and even. "I'm sober. But we can get out the test kit, if you like. Or you can just say no. It won't hurt my feelings."

Clint was pretty sure that wasn't true. Nazariy had feelings just like anybody, sometimes even wore them out in the open if you knew what you were looking for. More than that, Clint didn't want to say no. He leaned in close enough to smell Nazariy's faded cologne, murmuring, "Be careful what you wish for. You've been turning me on all night."

Nazariy's raised his eyebrows above intent green eyes. "By accident, you presume?"

"Shit," Clint said. He kissed him.

Nazariy's mouth met his, and it was a rough, bruising kiss, full of need.

"You really want to know what I'd do?" Clint asked him between kisses.

Nazariy gasped, a small sound from deep in his throat. "Yes."

Clint grabbed hold of Nazariy's ass with both hands, his fingers pressing tightly into the flesh. "Fuck you in it. That's what a tight little ass like that is made for, isn't it?" Clint's voice had gone low with desire.

Nazariy kissed him again with an open, hungry mouth, his eyes falling closed. "Yes. Fuck."

Nazariy took his hand, tugging him up the stairs towards the bed.

*

They fell onto the bed, still kissing. Nazariy was underneath him, hands around Clint's shoulders, holding on as his pelvis bucked up against Clint's groin. Clint had been on the verge of true arousal for what felt like forever, and now that Nazariy was underneath him panting in his ear, pressed against him, the rush came quickly.

"Fuck," he murmured, tugging at Nazariy's shirt. He pulled the buttons out of their holes with no care, sliding the shirt off Nazariy's shoulders and dropping it in a wadded ball on the floor. Nazariy made quick work of Clint's own shirt, sighing as he scrubbed his fingers through the hair that dusted Clint's chest. Clint sat back, straddling Nazariy's thighs, as he slid down the zipper on Nazariy's tight pants. His hand cupped Nazariy over his underwear, hand moving in light strokes.

They'd left the medkit downstairs, Clint realised. His head dipped in frustration. "I'll be right back."

The SHIELD field kit was on the coffee table, where they'd left it. Clint searched out the lube and condoms, then returned to the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

Nazariy was stretched out on the bed. He'd pushed his open pants further down his hips along with his underwear, and pulled out his cock, half-hard as he stroked himself with heavy-lidded eyes.

Clint stopped at the foot of the bed, eyes following the motion of Nazariy's fingers. "Having a good time?"

"Better if you'd get back here."

Clint tossed the supplies onto the bed. He pulled off his belt and pants in a hurry, still watching Nazariy as he did so. Nazariy watched him back, gaze traveling up the length of Clint's body. Clint dove back into the bed, jostling Nazariy and grabbing him by the hips as he straddled him. Clint dropped a brief kiss on Nazariy's throat, over his racing pulse. His hands fell onto Nazariy's cock, stroking in long pulls, watching as Nazariy responded to his touch. When Nazariy was breathless, panting, Clint's fingers caught in the waist of Nazariy's jeans and pulled them down, over his tight, strong thighs and calves. When Nazariy was finally nude he rolled over, exposing his bare backside, and parted his thighs. Clint's gaze drank him in, mouth dry. Nazariy rested his head on folded arms, shaggy hair falling forward as he waited silently. 

Clint's cock was heavy and hard. He knelt over Nazariy's naked body for a moment, rubbing against the smooth skin of Nazariy's spread thighs. He pushed one lubed finger against the entrance of Nazariy's body. Nazariy sighed, rolling his hips a little.

"Okay?" Clint asked him.

"Yeah."

Clint kept going, slowly at first, watching Nazariy's hole open for his fingers. He was moaning, rubbing himself against the sheets. Clint worked him slowly until he was fucking Nazariy on three spread fingers. Desire gripped him, his cock hard and leaking.

"Please," Nazariy groaned. 

The sound of his pleading nearly undid Clint. He fumbled for the condom in the sheets. Nazariy looked back, and shook his head.

"My last physical was eight days ago. Yours too. You don't need to."

"Yeah. Okay." Clint threw the object to the side. He stretched himself to cover Nazariy's body with his own, and felt Nazariy drawing impatient, needy breaths underneath him. His right hand met Nazariy's left, fingers twisting together. With his other hand, Clint guided himself to Nazariy's slick hole. He pushed the head in, groaning at the sensation as Nazariy's hole tightened around Clint's cock. He braced himself against the bed, and slipped in further, until his hips were flush against Nazariy's ass. Clint thrust into him with agonizing slowness, savouring the way Nazariy shuddered and pushed back against him. Clint thrust into him harder, changing his rhythm in response to Nazariy's moans until the bed shook. Clint's muscles rippled with the effort. Nazariy was silent except for his soft moans, and the only other sound in the room was the legs of the bed rattling against the floor, and the wet sound of Clint's cock driving into Nazariy's hole. His thighs felt weak as desire swept over him, crushing the breath out of his lungs. He gasped. Nazariy's back arched up underneath him. Clint shifted his grip, hands squeezing hard around Nazariy's waist. Nazariy writhed as Clint kept fucking him, and Clint couldn't see, feel anything else. Just Nazariy, tight and hot and perfect, taking all of him in ecstasy. Clint thrust again, faster, and every muscle in his body tensed as his release hit, sweeping him away on a wave. Nazariy moaned in open pleasure as Clint's come spilled inside him.

Clint was motionless for a moment, gasping for breath as his body shook. Then he pulled out and lifted his weight, enough to allow Nazariy enough room to roll onto his back.

Nazariy's eyes were still dark and full of want. Clint straddled Nazariy's thighs again, wrapping a hand around Nazariy's cock, long and hard and damp with pre-come. Nazariy thrust up against Clint's grip.

"Yeah?" Clint asked, and Nazariy nodded. Clint's strong grip slid down to the base of Nazariy's cock and back up to the tip. Nazariy moaned, lips parted. 

"Yeah," he murmured in quiet, dazed tones, as Clint continued the firm, easy strokes. Nazariy's hips jerked up, cock rubbing against Clint's palm, then he was trembling, crying out as his orgasm shot out, warm and wet, into Clint's hand.

*

Clint collapsed onto Nazariy's chest, breathing hard. He moved his head to brush easy kisses on the ridge of Nazariy's collarbone, listening as Nazariy's breathing returned to normal.

"Hey. You okay?" Clint's voice was gentle.

Nazariy stared at him for a moment, searching Clint's face. His expression shuttered in the next instant. "Fuck," Nazariy said, and shoved Clint away, then rolled out from underneath him. 

"Hey." Clint blinked, stumbling to his feet in a hurry to stand in front of him. "What did I say?"

"Am I okay?" Nazariy asked, his voice low and sarcastic. "Don't talk to me like I'm a fragile flower who needs coddling. Like I fell into bed with you because of the serum, or because I just don't know any better."

"I'm not," Clint said. "But I guess I don't know…why now, Naz? We've been working these kinds of ops for three years."

"Because I wanted you. And because I thought--" Nazariy sighed. "You're the only one, Clint. The only fucking one who doesn't always look at me like, oh, poor traumatised Nazariy, such a mess, he doesn't know what he's saying. Doesn't know what he wants. And if you keep giving me that look right now, I'm going to punch you in the fucking throat." 

"Please don't do that," Clint said.

Nazariy let out an empty, strangled laugh.

"Naz, I don't think that. I know you know what you want. That's why you came with me, isn't it? That day in Rio." Clint still remembered the day and the first time he'd seen Nazariy, framed by the sights of his weapon.

"Most people think that was your idea," Nazariy said in a near-whisper.

"Yeah, they do." Clint heard the things that others at SHIELD said when they thought Clint couldn't hear them. He tried his best not to pay them any attention. "I didn't know you cared what people thought."

Nazariy shrugged. He looked older than he was for a moment, features dropped in exhaustion. "I care what you think."

Clint moved closer to him. When he put a hand on Nazariy's bare hip, Nazariy didn't pull away. "I think you're incredible," he said. "The bravest person and the best partner I know. And the sexiest. But you knew that part already."

Nazariy laughed a little at the last one, the sound thick with emotion, and Clint smiled with him.

Clint continued, "I know you know exactly what you want, Naz. I guess I just don't know why that would be me. But if you've seen me looking, then you know exactly what I want."

Nazariy stared at him for a moment before nodding silently. Clint's arms came up to hold him, calloused fingers rubbing over Nazariy's shoulder blades as he exhaled a warm breath into the crook of Clint's neck. Clint continued, "And if you want to do this again when we get back to the States, you just let me know."

Nazariy nodded again, his face still flushed with emotion. He stood, swaying slightly in Clint's arms. Then he froze.

"What's--" Clint began.

Nazariy shushed him. "Do you hear that?"

Clint stilled, listening closely. Before he could answer, Nazariy had slipped out of his embrace, diving for the knives he'd abandoned on the floor before soaring down the stairs. Clint grabbed his bow and arrow from under the bed, following in an instant.

If the half-a-dozen intruders were surprised to be greeted by two naked men, one carelessly exhibiting Nazariy's unique brand of hand to hand, they didn't show it. The leader moved faster than anyone Clint had ever seen. He drew an arrow and took a breath, aiming into the empty space in the leader's path. When the man was felled along with his crew, flat on the ground with Nazariy's knife at his throat, he admitted it wasn't Bédard that had sent him.

"Rider wants to know what you're doing in Sokovia," he said, in strangled Sokovian. Up close, he was nearly vibrating from the effects of the serum he'd taken.

Nazariy raised his eyebrows. "Worried Bédard has a new number one customer?"

The goon was silent. 

"Does your boss know where to find Bédard's lab?" Clint cut in.

The captured man looked surprised. "I think so. But it does you no good without the formula."

"We'll worry about that," Nazariy said. The blade of his knife dug into the skin. "You worry about whether he'll be willing to trade."

*

They hit Bédard's lab an hour later. It was a dilapidated house on the outskirts of the city, guarded by men who never got a chance to swig from the vials they were undoubtedly carrying, because they never saw Clint and Nazariy coming. Soon after the lab went up in flames, burning an unnatural shade of purple as the remains of the chemicals inside went up in smoke.

Clint sheathed his last arrow. "Let's find Bédard and tell him he's out of business."

*

"I drew up a plan," Maria Hill said with an unimpressed glare, when they landed at the base six hours later.

Clint shrugged. "Job got done, didn't it?" 

"I suppose. And you survived an encounter with enhanced humans. Congratulations."

Clint grunted, unimpressed. "Hope it's the last one."

"Don't let Fury hear you say that," Nazariy quipped as he followed Clint onto the tarmac.

"Yeah, I don't get his obsession." Clint glanced back to Maria, but the agent was already turning away. 

"Debrief tomorrow morning. Don't forget. That means you, Barton."

"You hitting the sack?" Clint asked, turning to Nazariy. All things considered, neither of them had gotten much sleep.

"Yeah. You?"

Clint nodded "Yeah. I'll see you around?" He was suddenly uncertain. Shit happened in the field all the time that didn't mean anything when you got back to home turf.

But Nazariy just smiled, an expression full of promise. His eyes were warm. "Yeah. You will."

*fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Nazariy = Russian boy's name meaning "of Nazareth". Nazareth is Jesus' birthplace and Natasha/Natalia means Christmas, i.e. Jesus' birthday.


End file.
